Victory Dance
by tigerlily25
Summary: M/D post S4 Finale - 'You forget that it’s been two hours and you’re freezing and a little annoyed… and that you doubted him for even a minute. It doesn’t fix everything: there’s still a lot you need to say - but for now you just want to bask.'


_A/N: Last time I was writing fic, it was BtVS. And that was a very long time ago. Hope y'all enjoy my new venture into the Grey's world! One-shot for now, may be subject to change at the whim of my muse. By the way, this is a post-finale fic. _

_Disclaimer: GA characters and storylines belong to Shonda, not me. And although some things haven't gone the way I'd like, I'd still kill to be her with her genius mind. I'm just playing with them._

The candles are dying one by one, and you're no longer warmed by your sense of being all whole and healed, of finally figuring out what you want, and chasing it. He drove away, and you were numb for a minute with happiness. You rearranged the candles so that when he got back and asked where your bedroom was, you'd have an answer.

Now there's just waiting, and as the minutes trickle into hours and the lights slowly disappear in the valley below, you feel the cold. Other people are sleeping, and warm, and not running rambling internal monologues about doing stupid, crazy things.

Your fingers are numb, and you wish you'd brought gloves, but you never thought the aftermath would be like this. The waiting, and the cold… and the slow descent from giddy happiness to a vague twisting feeling.

You want to take it on faith that he'll show up this time.

But… he's asked for your faith before, and you gave it. And in return, he gave you his wife. Technically, he didn't even give that - she gave herself in a storm of pointy-heeled indignation. Which you almost can't blame her for, although you can't deny that she had a hand in their destruction.

His contribution? A heartbroken look and a muttered apology, like he was drowning under the weight of regret and reality. Even though you know a little something about that feeling it still grates.

You never talked about it. You ranted at him in a stairwell about being broken, about him breaking you – but he's never apologised or acknowledged that just maybe, some of the responsibility for your dark and twisty lies with him. Not only for Addison.

You can't help wondering if he ever would have told you. Sure, he told you his favourite colour, and ice-cream, and that he has enough 'real' family to fill Joe's. Which is a whole other thing to freak out about. Because you've said the word forever, and forever means meeting his family; who more than likely agree with Nancy about the slutty intern thing.

You find out small things as you go – that he left behind a closet of designer suits and a house full of stark designer furniture for worn jeans and a hammock on the porch. That he prefers lemon cheesecake yoghurt to blackberry – which is good because you only have to fight Izzie for the blackberry. That Derek 2.0 looks back on his New York self with something akin to disgust.

That he has five small freckles on the small of his back that, if you squint, almost look like a constellation.

You can't remember the name, but you remember being five and lying on your back in the wet grass while your father pointed out the constellations. He told you stories of sea monsters and gods and snake-haired ladies. You asked him then if he would take you there one day. And he sighed, and rubbed his eyes like the stars were too bright, and said it was bedtime.

The next day when you got home from school he was gone.

You lay outside in the grass for hours waiting for the stars to come out, thinking if you could only find Orion, or Cassiopeia, or Pegasus, he'd come back and tell you what a smart girl you were, that he was proud of you. Instead, your mother came out and asked what the hell you were doing, lying in the grass like a halfwit.

You're still kinda waiting to hear those words.

You wonder if anyone has noticed you're not home, and just as you think this, your phone buzzes deep in your pocket, startling you from your dangerous musing. This week's ringtone is Cyndi Lauper, courtesy (probably) of Cristina. You resolve to change your locker combination but deep down you smile at the thought of her singing in the morgue.

'Joes. Tequila. _Now_.'

Your person never says hello. You know she's not trying to be rude, she just doesn't see the point. The hours the hospital doesn't own you are precious enough without wasting time with platitudes. You appreciate her never giving you the chance to tell her you're fine, especially when you both know you're lying. Usually.

'Meredith... I yelled at Hahn. _Hahn_, Meredith! Cardio God and Her Holy Grudge-ness. And then the Chief semi-yelled. At her. And I taught your not-sister the running whip stitch on a banana. Me. Teaching. So whatever you're doing, drop it. I. Need. A. Drink.'

You try to process this stream of information, more than you normally get from Cristina, and wonder if the drinking has started already.

'A banana?'

She makes an exasperated sound and you hear her asking Joe for another, can picture her slouched at the bar glaring at anyone not-her-person who dares to come close. You smile a little at the thought of her finally snapping at Hahn, and think that it's not only you who has leapt today.

'Yes, a banana. I sacrificed my banana to teach an _intern_. Where the hell are you, climbing a mountain? The reception is terrible.' There's a pause and you know what's coming. 'You're with McDreamy.'

It's not accusing, not exactly. You've always known she doesn't like him, hasn't since your very first day and Katie Bryce's surgery. Later, when she saw the damage he had done, the vague annoyance turned to something just a fraction shy of disgust . Even when things were good between you, she only ever barely tolerated him, always waiting for the next McScrewUp. Cristina is not a little fierce when she's protecting what's hers.

Secretly, you hope that now he'll give her a reason to change her mind. Because you said the word forever. You're not quite ready to tell her that yet.

'Meredith! You better not be naked right now! I have not had enough tequila to have that image in my head.' That makes you laugh and hurt at the same time. If only.

'Not naked. Nothing porny happening here. Just… candles. Lots of candles. And champagne. And I did a stupid thing, but I think it was a good thing. It was something I needed to do. It hurt, and it was hard but… it was a good thing.'

There's a long pause on the other end, and you wonder if you've lost the signal, or if Cristina has hung up. But you can hear her breathing, so you know she's still there.

'Cris?'

' You need help dragging the corpse? Because you have that tone.'

'No, I…no! What tone?'

'The 'I-stuck-my-hand-in-bomb-guy' tone. Like you've gone and done something deeply, deeply stupid and now you wish you just had the sense to duck like everybody else.'

You wish that just for once, Cristina could be a little happy that you are happy. Might be approaching happy. But she wouldn't be your person if she wasn't looking out for you, and even though her scepticism stings like a paper cut, you know she's got your back.

Besides, you can't think of anything worse than hearing someone else squeal and gush happiness for you when you don't quite know what is going on. He still hasn't come back, after all.

'No, no bombs. I just… I figured some things out. I came to tell him, and I made a house… and he kissed me. And he left, so I'm just here. Waiting. Because he asked me to wait for him. So I'm… I can't. Joe's. I can't come to Joe's. I have to… wait.'

'Oh Meredith.' Her voice softens just a little. 'How long?' She doesn't ask where you are, or where he went. She knows.

'An hour.. almost two. But he said he has to find her, and tell her. To clear his conscience or whatever. And the ferry – it takes awhile to get into town. I told him I'd wait. So, I'm waiting.' You bite your lip and wait for the inevitable snarky comment.

'Want me to come wait with you until he shows?'

For a minute, you don't believe what you're hearing. Not so much that she'd offer to come wait. Drinking alone is more than a little sad. This, you know.

It's that she said it like she had a shred of faith that he'd be back. And that's enough for you, for now. The rest you can work on later, because you love him, and she's your person, and they have you in common even if there's nothing else.

'I'm good for now. But… thanks.' Thanks for having faith. And for distracting me from stupid dark doubting thoughts. You don't say it but you're pretty sure she understands anyway.

You can practically see her roll her eyes.

'Save the sappy. Besides, you just made me rich. I can afford a little nice.'

You're somehow not surprised that there was a betting pool. A little happy even, because despite how twisted it is, it meant other people had hope. Speaking of hope…

'You bet on us _getting back together_. You, Cristina Yang, bet on a happy ending?'

She snorts. 'Are you kidding? Dr McMuesli, ending up with a nurse who eats insane amounts of candy even by my standard? A _nurse_, Meredith.' She spits the word out like poison. Like _veterinarian_. You laugh a little at her tone, at what she didn't say.

'Cristina…' Warning, but not seriously mad.

'Fine.' She sighs, clinking her glass. 'I bet both ways.' Pause. 'Don't be pissed. The thought counts.'

You should probably be a little mad, but you can't stop grinning. 'I won't bother asking which bet was bigger. You owe me a drink. For profiting from my happiness.'

'Mere, I'll buy you a bottle if you promise not to give me details of your horizontal reunion. It's more than I can take right now.'

You hear about three words because there are lights coming toward you. You forget that it's been two hours and you're freezing and a little annoyed… and that you doubted him for even a minute. It doesn't fix everything – there's still a lot you need to say – but for now you just want to bask.

'Cris, I gotta go.' She'll know why.

'I'm guessing you're about to see His Majesty King of Mousse, and didn't hear a word I just said. _No. Porny. Details_. And if you change your mind, I'll be at the hospital collecting from Nurse Debbie. And then here again.'

She hangs up without a goodbye but it doesn't matter because you wouldn't hear it anyway. The lights stop roughly where you think the trailer is – there's no road here, not yet. A fact that you discovered during many trips through the woods, loaded with candles and cursing nature.

You think about lighting the candles again, wish you'd thought to bring glasses for the champagne. It seems wrong to drink from the bottle when you should toast to finally getting whole and healed, and to figuring out what extraordinary really means.

You decide that the logistics don't matter. Glasses. Candles. Whether your lipgloss is still intact. After all, it doesn't matter right this minute how you got here – just that you're here. The rest you can deal with later. You still don't know if you believe in happily ever after – you're not a fairytale girl. The last few years have proved that usually when you think you've gotten your happy ending, karma comes back and bites you in the ass. So you're focussing on happily-right-now.

Science is what you know, and what you were raised to believe in. You've seen hearts that are broken and lifeless made warm and whole again. You believe that people can be brought back to life, not necessarily with a clean slate, but with a new perspective. Even if they can't describe it.

As for the fairytales? You're totally not buying into the damsel in distress routine. You've certainly kissed your fair share of frogs. And you were the pink haired, angry girl who wouldn't have been caught dead at the ball/prom/whatever. But then you think about Beth, who lost her prince but because of him, gained her life. And Andre turned out to be real after all, so who the hell knows.

The trees whisper as you squint into the darkness - wondering if he can see you standing among the dying candles, staring.

You stand and wait for him to arrive; so you can finally have your victory dance.

__

A/N: Thanks for reading! Reviews are much appreciated – and my inspiration to keep writing. :) 


End file.
